


tell me you're strong, tell me you see (i need to hear it, can you promise me?)

by MotherKarizma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, One Word Prompts, Oneshot, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Tony Stark, Rated For Violence, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma
Summary: “I did good?” Peter’s eyes, slitted and unfocused, searched for him – searched for praise.Tony pressed down harder against the wound, the result of a bullet that had dared to pierce his kid’s chest without warning or consent, and swallowed hard.Hurry the fuck up, Rhodes.“Yeah, kid,” he said. “You did good.”-----one word prompt:praise
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 461





	tell me you're strong, tell me you see (i need to hear it, can you promise me?)

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! i had this fun idea to use a random word generator as a one word prompt generator. the first word i got was 'praise' and i'm pretty happy with how it turned out!
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> fic title taken from [needtobreathe - keep your eyes open](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pD5oJRfOn2g)

"I did good?" Peter's eyes, slitted and unfocused, searched for him - searched for praise.

Tony pressed down harder against the wound, the result of a bullet that had dared to pierce his kid’s chest without warning or consent, and swallowed hard. _Hurry the fuck up, Rhodes._

“Yeah, kid,” he said. “You did good.”

Like this was all he needed, like he’d only wanted to hold on just long enough for Tony to arrive and confirm what everyone already knew about Peter Parker – that he was always, unequivocally, inherently _good_ – Peter offered him a small smile that looked more like a grimace, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Tony lifted one (blood-stained, trembling) hand to shake the kid’s shoulder. “Nuh-uh. Not happening. Eyes open, Pete.”

Peter’s struggle to obey was painfully obvious, but he did obey. Barely. “D’n’t worry. ‘M fine. D’n’t be sad.”

Tony couldn’t help it: a humorless huff of laughter rose up his throat, and he choked on it. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now? How _I’m_ feeling? Really?”

“Always.”

That wasn’t fair. Tony had no response, though. His brain stalled. He pressed his hand back against the wound, and God, he _wished_ Peter would make some sort of noise. A groan. A whimper. Something. The last thing he wanted was for this kid to be in pain, but if he had to choose between that and delirious silence, he’d take the pain. Pain meant he was still fighting, still felt it, still cared. Silence in injury was the precursor to death.

“You did good,” he said again, just to have something to say, just to keep Peter’s eyes open and locked on him. “You always do good, Pete.”

“Oh.” Peter hummed. “Th’nks.”

“Eyes open, remember? You can’t sleep here. We’ve gotta get you fixed up first.”

“But ‘m tired.”

“I know you are.” Tony scrambled for words and pressed down harder – mostly to staunch the blood flow, but partially in hopes that the pain would keep Peter conscious for just a few moments longer. “Hey. I saw your lab notes. You thinking about changing your web formula?”

Peter coughed a little, wet and weak. Blood rose to the corner of his mouth and streamed down his chin. It took Tony every ounce of sanity he had left in his weary bones to not spiral into a full-blown panic attack.

“Yeah,” the kid said. “Tensile strength…’s better, I think.”

“Good idea,” Tony praised. “Can I help?”

“Mhm.”

It happened so quickly that he might have missed it if he’d blinked. But he didn’t miss it. Peter closed his eyes, and his body went lax beneath Tony’s hands.

For one horrific, heart-stopping moment, Tony thought that was _it_ – that his kid had just died right in front of his eyes, in a cold, wet alleyway at midnight, as suddenly as a candle flickering out, but–

“He’s still alive, Boss,” FRIDAY, who knew exactly what Tony had to be thinking in that moment, informed him softly. “But his blood pressure is dangerously low.”

“Rhodey’s ETA?” Tony pressed two fingers to the kid’s throat just to feel his pulse for himself.

“Approximately sixty seconds.”

“Come on, Pete. Just another minute, okay?”

As expected, there was no response. Tony kept his hands pressed on the wound, jaw clenched so tight it was a miracle his teeth didn’t chip, and waited.

* * *

“M’ster St’rk?”

Tony’s eyes shot open. He sat up straight in the hard, plastic chair he’d somehow managed to fall asleep in and leaned over the side of the medical bed.

“Hey, kid.” He ran a hand through Peter’s mussed hair and found the will to summon up a bittersweet smile. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

Peter’s eyes were clearer now, but the haze of exhaustion remained. He glanced around what little of the room he could see without turning his head away from Tony. “May?”

Tony nodded to another bed across from Peter’s, where May had, at Tony’s insistence, curled up to rest while they awaited his return to the land of the living. Peter struggled to find the strength to face her. Tony gently nudged his head in the right direction. At the sight of his aunt, her face screwed up in worry even as she slept, the kid’s lips began to tremble.

“’M sorry.” Whether that was meant for him or May, Tony couldn’t tell. Both of them, maybe. “Sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Tony said. “I saw the Baby Monitor footage. You did exactly what you should have done. This was _not_ your fault.”

Peter paused, eyes still on his aunt. “But–“

“You know she’s gonna say the same thing. She’s not mad at you, okay? Nobody’s mad at you. You did good, Pete. You’re okay.”

At the ever-effective _you did good,_ Peter visibly relaxed. “’M tired.”

“Then sleep.” Tony allowed himself just a moment of parental-esque fussing, tucking Peter’s blanket in tighter around him and straightening the oxygen cannula against his face.

“Stay?”

Tony squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Just like they had in the alley, Peter’s eyelids fluttered, and he went limp beneath Tony’s hand. This time, Tony didn’t respond with panic. He sat back in his chair and exhaled a breath of pure relief.

“You did good,” he said again, just because it was true and he could. “You always do good. You _are_ good.”

And though Peter was no doubt sound asleep, the kid’s mouth twitch upward into the slightest of smiles, like the praise had somehow found its way to his heart without the help of his ears.

Tony knew this line of work – one Peter had chosen, one he and May begrudgingly continued to allow – put the kid in more imminent, mortal danger than was really fair. He knew he wouldn’t be around to protect him forever. He knew there might come a day where Peter wasn’t lucky enough to get a second chance (though he hoped, selfishly, it would be far enough into the future that he wouldn’t be alive to see it).

But that day wasn’t today. Peter would live to be unthinkably good for a little while longer.

For now, at least, that would have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you liked it, please take a second to let me know what you thought!


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